


let me poison that glögg (with love)

by SilverCeleb



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dysfunctional Family, Gentle Kissing, M/M, Relationship Reveal, Slice of Life, Tolkien Secret Santa 2020, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28361670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverCeleb/pseuds/SilverCeleb
Summary: “Hey no, no point in Yule without you. I only wanted to commiserate in the shared misery that is your family put together.”“Fair. I just, fuck”, and he hears Mae’s voice catch there, “I’m sorry I’m like this, I swear I’m not trying to start a fight. I’m just so tired and keep making the same mistakes. I guess being back here just brings out the ugly side of me, makes me want to confront everyone and everything.”Part of Tolkien Secret Santa 2020 exchange
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Maedhros | Maitimo & Maglor | Makalaurë
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22
Collections: Tolkien Secret Santa 2020





	let me poison that glögg (with love)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whereisbarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereisbarton/gifts).



> Ah, finally! Here we go, some fin/mae yule fluf for you! I hope you like this, I wanted to go with modern au and family drama because let's face it, Fëanorians have zero chill. They are such a mafia family in here, obviously. I hope this gives you joy or at least entertainment. Thank you for your patience and kindness! <3

Yule time at the house Fëanor is, well. It is something else.

Even up in the secluded corner of his boyfriend’s childhood bedroom, a crash from the living room makes them both wince and Fingon contemplates holding back the told you so on his tongue tip. It will either cheer them both up, reminding them of the absurdity of the situation and all the times they have already endured the same hurdle. Or it will backfire and start up the ages old argument of whether or not Maedhros really should live his own life instead of the one his father has crafted for him.

“I really would have rather spent the holidays with just the two of us”, he ventures out eventually, as the crash is followed by a rising and falling melody of angry voices.

These people, really. They cannot do anything the normal way, even family arguments must be arranged into some sort of weird poetry battle slash sword fight.

“And I told you why I have to be here, and also why you didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to”, Maedhros mutters darkly from underneath the blankets he has piled on them.

Fingon sighs and cards his fingers through the red strands that peak out of the blanket pile. They have built the blanket nest in Mae’s old bed, next to the window with a view to the street where neon lights flicker and cars drive by even now.

“Hey no, no point in Yule without you. I only wanted to commiserate in the shared misery that is your family put together.”

“Fair. I just, fuck”, and he hears Mae’s voice catch there, “I’m sorry I’m like this, I swear I’m not trying to start a fight. I’m just so tired and keep making the same mistakes. I guess being back here just brings out the ugly side of me, makes me want to confront everyone and everything.”

Something tight curls around his lungs, and Fingon has to focus on breathing steadily. When he had first fallen for this man in his arms they had been so young. Carefree, in a way that only kids sharing pokemon trade cards and rushing to the park to play could be. Puppy love, his father had said, and that was true enough at the time.

What he feels now is far from that puppy love, a thing deeper and more dangerous, less fragile but already fractured with reality. The mess with their families, the stolen USB sticks that carried the keys to the _Silmarils_ program, the days they had thought Maedhros to be gone, the hours he had spent bruising his knuckles in bar fights and the bottles he had tried to drown his sorrow in.

Some parts of him yearn for the puppy love days, the time before his love knew such profound pain. Wishes for things, such laughably stupid things, like a magic wand to wave and erase hurts of the past.

Fingon slides his hand underneath the blankets and looks for the hand that still remains, finding it clutching the worn hoodie that Mae wears around the holidays. It has reindeer on it, and little Yule trees printed on the sleeves.

After gentle prodding the fingers release their grip on the fabric and instead intwine with his. A shaky exhale rattles free from their chests almost identically.

“Nothing to forgive. Thank you for letting me in”, he says, because he really is thankful, it had taken Mae so long to start opening up to him again after the capture.

Another crash from downstairs and the fight escalates to straight up yelling and, likely, a fistfight. Fingon feels the grip on his fingers tightening painfully. It’s not hard to guess what is going on, not with how they had left the dinner soon after Caranthir and Curufin were getting ready to stab each other with their forks.

Glass shatters. Neither of them says anything. Neither of them mentions the gunshot from three years and twenty minutes ago, the only Yule that Fingon had actually had enough and ran out in the December weather, with just his coat and phone. Neither of them moves from where they are listening to their loved ones ripping apart each other.

After what feels like both decades and no time at all there are also footsteps, first climbing the stairs and then approaching steadily. For a moment Fingon is sure that this is how he will lose his fingers, in the death grip of his man, but then the fingers in his fall slack and Mae is pushing himself up and away from him.

Stupid, really, how it aches.

But then the hand is seeking for his again, and some of the ache melts away in his chest. By the time the door swings open they are sitting side by side, legs tangled together and holding hands under the blankets.

“Oh hi Mag, is anyone bleeding yet?” Maedhros asks before Maglor even steps inside.

“Amras took a punch for Celegorm and might have broken his nose, but nothing really interesting yet. Dad is pretty pissed too, nothing new there”, he recounts as he pulls out a chair to sit in from the desk.

It earns him a dry snort from Maedhros, and Fingon allows his lips to curl into a slight smile. Maglor is possibly the least insane of Mae’s brothers, or maybe the one Fingon just gets along with the best.

Maglor is also the one who shares his bedroom with Mae, because no matter how cool and rich the Noldorian nobles are, it is near impossible to find an apartment in the city center of Tirion with ten bedrooms and at least three workshops, plus a dining room and the sort of kitchen that can store and feed nine adults plus their occasional guests. And decent garage space. And multiple bathrooms. And a place for a home theater, hunting rifles, enough sci tech to make Nasa jealous.

Come to think of it, they possibly should have just bought an entire building and arranged it into their fortress. Alas, as it is, all the brothers have to share rooms, and Fingon is indefinitely glad that Mae and Maglor are the oldest ones so they have gotten away with just the two of them. Celegorm, Caranthir, and Curufin share one too, because it would have been completely impossible to try and stick anyone into Amrod and Amras’ room, and the three of them still have lines taped to the floor to maintain the fragilest of peace.

“Really, you are not missing much”, Maglor continues, “it is the same bullshit as it was last year and the year before that. Who should be the one who takes what deal, why we let Sauron and Gothmog run their business right next to our territory, should we try to surprise them and go after Ungoliant instead. Utumno is still too well protected and as you know Melkor has not lost any political power, it makes father pissed and Cara wants to just let loose and snipe the fucker out of the game. Basically just a business negotiation without our allies and with mom serving them rum pudding they won’t eat. May your Yuletide be merry.”

There is an edge to Maglor’s voice, and Maedhros sighs wearily before slumping against Fingon’s shoulder. Maglor does not raise a brow, but then Maglor knows the things they do not speak of. Still, it feels like preparing for a war as Fingon presses his lips to the red hair, and not one he is going to win.

The man leaning on him is suddenly radiating tension. Fingon can’t see his face, he looks at Maglor instead. Maglor, who looks at them with an unreadable expression in his dark eyes. Silence between the three of them is louder than the argument downstairs. Still, there must be some sort of a cue from Maglor, or else Maedhros has finally come to the sort of conclusion Fingon has been aching for for years, because under the eyes of his closest brother Maedhros moves up.

Fingon feels the tender fingers brushing his cheek, that warm palm cupping his face and turning it towards his lover. Maedhros kisses him slowly, so softly it is almost innocent, almost nothing at all.

It leaves fire and ice in Fingon’s veins, tingling his nerves and stealing his breath away. His heart is beating too fast, and he has closed his eyes at some point but, but.

Maglor is still watching them when Fingon opens his eyes again and dares to look at their audience. In the half darkness his face is softer now, sad and compassionate but tender in a way Fingon has never really been allowed to see. This family loves each other, he is reminded suddenly. Despite all the ugly and violent things they carry for each other, there is devotion in there too, warmth.

“Merry Yuletide, big brother”, Maglor repeats, but this time it is sincere.

“You too, little brother”, Maedhros echoes.

And Fingon can feel his heart aching in another, much fiercer way at those words. Because he has held this man in his arms and heard him cry and whisper broken confessions of fear, insecurity, terror of being found out and forsaken. And now he gets to be here when some of those fears are erased.

“For what it is worth, I think you have chosen well”, Maglor continues, and this time he looks at Fingon with mirth in his eyes, “Fingon is clearly the intelligent and influential one here, not to mention I have seen his ass in yoga pants.”

“Brother please”, Maedhros groans as Fingon feels his cheeks growing warm.

Really. This family.


End file.
